Watch Yourself
by ForeverAlwaysTogether
Summary: Sandor is asked by Tyrion to protect Sansa from Joffery and his knights. He agrees, but not for Tyrion's sake.
1. Chapter 1

Sansa Stark was a bird. She was no longer a wolf, and she would never be a lion, even when she would marry Joffery. All she was was a pretty little songbird singing all the things the Queen and her fiancé wanted her to sing. And she was completely and utterly alone.

Her father was dead- beheaded at the order of Joffery. Robb was at war, and no matter how much Sansa dreamed and wished, he was nowhere close to coming to her rescue. Bran was crippled and was know Lord of Winterfell, and Rickon was four- they would not be saving her from the Lion's Den either. And Arya, Arya had vanished. Sansa had no idea where her sister was, but she prayed it was somewhere far, far away from King's Landing.

She knew Joffery didn't love her, and she knew she didn't love him. Their marriage- if they ever did marry- would be like King Robert and Queen Cersei's- loveless. Perhaps that didn't bother Sansa anymore. Maybe she would grow to accept her marriage and even love Joffery again.

Then the image of Ser Ilyn with Ice raised high above his head bringing the sword down in a mighty arch and beheading her father, flashes in her mind. Every time she closes her eyes, she saw her father's corpse- headless- she saw Ice, dripping red with her father's blood. And she saw her father's head, mounted on a spike.

The memory of seeing her father's head on a spike reminded Sansa of the many beatings she receives from her 'unruly behavior'. Joffery enjoyed listening to his fiancé cry out in pain, or watching as the _noble_ knights from the Kingsguard stuck her. He preferred to use Ser Meryn- he hit the hardest. Sansa could rank the members of the Kingsguard in order of how they hit her.

Ser Meryn was first. His blows left her bruised and bloody, and unfortunately for her, Joffery usually chose him to beat her. Ser Preston was next, closely followed by Ser Mandon. Both knights left her bruised, but never broke her skin. Ser Boros was next. His hits were no softer, but did not sting as much because he simply did not seem to care. Ser Arys was last. He was the only member of the Kingsguard who argued before hitting her, and then only hit her lightly.

Two members of the Kingsguard had never laid a hand on her, however. Jaime Lannister, the Lord Commander was one; although it would be hard for him to beat her because he was out fighting the war against her brother. The other, was Sandor Clegane. The Hound was the biggest of the members in the Kingsguard, and- from what Sansa saw- was the strongest, but Joffery never ordered him to raise a hand to Sansa.

"Harder! I said harder!" Joffery's voice rang out in the Red Keep. He sat upon the Iron Throne, with one leg swung over the arm rest. His crown was too large for him and slipped slightly onto his forehead. "Were you not listening to me, dog?"

Sansa watched as the Hound looked up from the crippled mess of a man as his feet. Although her heart went out to the poor man who he was beating, she was grateful it was not her who was the center of Joffery's torment for the moment. "As you command," the Hound said in his raspy, rough voice. Sansa winced and closed her eyes as his boot kicked the broken man harder, until he began to cough up blood.

_Please._ Sansa begged to the Old Gods. _Please stop his pain, just let him die! Please, I beg you!_ Mercifully enough, Joffery grew tired of watching the man being beaten and ordered the Hound to slit his throat. Sansa watched the man's blood seep from the line across ear to ear. The sight of a dead man no longer frightened her; she saw her fair share of death watching Court.

"I'm bored," Joffery decided. He stood and removed his crown, handing it to his mother who sat next to him. "You can listen to their whinnying now, Mother." Joffery leaned down and pecked her cheek before walked down the steps from his throne to Sansa. "Come."

Sansa bowed her head and followed her King. She did not ask where they were going or even walk beside him. She walked behind him with her eyes downcast. The little bird was learning how to live without her wings.

"What did you think of Court today, my Lady?" Joffery asked her. He didn't bother to turn to look at her.

"Your rulings were fair, Your Grace," she replied. The man didn't deserve to die was what she truly wanted to say. He had come to Court to ask for the King's Justice on a man who had raped his daughter. Sansa had thought Joffery would allow the man to be executed- he loved putting Ser Ilyn to work. But instead, Joffery proclaimed the man wasn't a good enough father to protect his daughter from the raper and sent the Hound on him.

"Of course they were; I am always right." His voice was arrogant, it was a good sign. It meant he was in a good mood- perhaps Sansa could escape today without a beating.

"Yes, my lord."

Joffery stopped and spun on her, his green eyes filled with rage. "'My lord'?" he spat in her face. "I am not your lord, I am your king! And I will be addressed as such! Ser Preston, teach her how to speak to me!"

The knight stuck her in her lower back- she hadn't even known he was there, but of course he was- Joffery was never without a knight or two. Sansa fell to the ground, and received a foot in her stomach, the image of the man coughing up blood flashed in her mind. Ser Preston pulled her up by her hair and smacked her across the face. "I am sorry, Your Grace!" she yelled, trying to protect her face with her hands. Joffery smiled at her and crossed his arms, and Ser Preston released her. Sansa's body fell to the ground and she did not bother to attempt to stand.

"Much better. If I were you I would remember that lesson or relearning it will be a painful experience for you, I can guarantee it." His voice had lowered to a dangerous hiss, and Sansa shivered. "Leave her here," he said to the knight. "I'm sure my Lady can find her own way back to her chambers."

Sansa waited until their footsteps died away before raising her head. Her fingers felt at her face, trying to find any source of blood. Finding none, she struggled to her feet, clutching the wall for support. The world spun around her, and she closed her eyes.

"Little bird, what are you doing?" The Hound's voice was as raspy and rough as ever, but this time it was a blessing. At least someone would be able to at least try to catch her if she fell.

"I… I misspoke before the King," she whispered. Sansa took a small step forward and then another. Pain shot up from both her stomach and back, and she inhaled sharply. "Ser Preston was ed-educating me on how I should speak to him. Joffery wants me to go back to my chambers now to think about what I have learned."

The world began to spin a little fast around Sansa and she tried to hold onto anything on the wall. A strong grip on her arm steadied her. The Hound kept his hand on her arm and half-led, half-dragged Sansa back to her chambers. She lowered herself onto her bed, the world no longer spinning.

"Thank you," she whispered. Sansa may have not addressed the King properly, but she had learned not to call the Hound 'ser'. He was not knight, and probably would never become one- not that that seemed to bother him.

"You better start watching yourself, little bird. Or soon enough you won't have any feathers left," was the only reply she received before he walked swiftly out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Sandor

Sandor Clegane hated the king. The prick was a baby, no matter what chair he sat on or what was placed on his head. And unfortunately for Sandor, he was the king's Sworn Shield. Meaning he was by Joffery's side most, if not all, of the time. He didn't even have another person he could complain to.

True, the knights of the Kingsguard were sworn brothers, but Sandor hated them as well. They were just like his real brother, Gregor- knights. Sandor spit on knights. Knights do not burn off half of their little brother's face for placing with their toy. And knights do not beat a girl bruised and bloody; especially if she was a high-born lady and engaged the King.

Why Joffery commanded they beat the poor Stark girl, Sandor had no idea. She had come to King's Landing a naïve girl with hopes of marrying Joffery, who she saw as a true knight. And now she was a broken child who said what Joffery and his demon of a mother wanted her to say. She hardly ever smiled now, and her eyes were dull. The Lannisters had sucked the life out of the girl, which made Sandor hate them even more.

In reality, Sandor hated everyone. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Starks, the Tullys, the remaining Targaryens, every last one of them. Except for the Stark girl, Sansa. He didn't hate her, although he didn't care for her either. She was just a pretty little songbird trying to stay alive.

She should have watched her tongue. Joffery hated it when people called him 'my lord' instead of 'Your Grace' or 'my King' or some equally annoying title. He was a thirteen year old boy, not a King. Sansa had been doing well; last Sandor had heard she hadn't been beaten for the last two days. Until earlier that week anyway.

Seeing her clutching the stone wall for support, a bruise already forming on her cheek had made Sandor's temper flare. He wanted to find whichever one of his 'brothers' had beaten her and give them what they gave her. She was a girl, a child- she couldn't protect herself against grown men. But instead of chasing down her abuser, Sandor took Sansa back to her chambers.

"Dog!" Joffery called for him down the corridor. "Dog, come here! Now!" Sandor bit back a growl and walked toward where the boy was calling for him.

"Yes, Your Grace?" he asked, looking down at the child. It was the one thing he could do that not many others could- look down at him. Had it been anyone else, Joffery probably would have their legs cut off.

"Get my fiancé and bring her to the Red Keep. There has been a turning point in the war and I know she'll want to hear about it." Joffery was furious and Sandor knew that the little King would let his fury out on the girl.

"The girl can barely walk," Sandor said trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "Her last… lesson has kept her in bed for the last few days, sire."

Joffery glared up at him and crossed his arms in front of his chest, pouting. Sandor would have given anything to smack the look off of Joffery's face. "I don't care! But since you won't bring her, Ser Meryn will." Joffery's green eyes challenged him to fight back, but the Hound stayed silent.

"As you command, Your Grace," Ser Meryn said, bowing to the boy. He glared at Sandor as he past him heading to the girl's chamber. Cage was more like it.

"Dog, heel," the boy sneered at him, and began to storm toward the Red Keep. Ignoring his urge to hit him, Sandor followed like a good dog.

The Red Keep was filled with more people than usual. After the first few meetings at Court, people began to stop coming- their stomachs couldn't handle it. But today, it was full with commoners and lords alike. They all watched with eager eyes as the king climbed the stairs and sat upon his throne. Sandor turned his back to the boy and stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Joffery snapped for Ser Boros and whispered a command in his ear. The knight briskly left the throne room with all eyes on him. He returned with a crossbow and Sandor's cold, grey eyes narrowed dangerously. Ser Boros handed the weapon to the King and bowed before returning to his own spot at the bottom of the stairs.

The doors opened and Sansa Stark entered with her head bowed. Ser Meryn had a tight grip on her arm, but she did not make a sound. The knight dragged her to the center of the room and pushed her to the floor. A small whimper left her lips and her hand went to her stomach; she had not fully healed from her last beating.

"Evening, my Lady," Joffery said from the Iron Throne. Sandor could hear the smirk in his voice and focused his eyes on a small point on the opposite wall. "Do you know why I have summoned you here?"

"No, Your Grace." Her voice came out as a whisper, barely loud enough for Joffery to hear her. Slowly, she titled her face up to meet his eyes.

"There has been a change in the war," Joffery's voice filled with anger and Sandor's eyes flickered to Sansa's face. She knew she would not escape a beating tonight. "Your traitor brother has won another victory!"

Joffery stood and raised the crossbow, aiming for her chest. Tears streamed down Sansa's face and she began to beg. "Please, whatever he has done, I was not a part of it, you know that!"

"Silence!" Joffery yelled. Sansa bowed her head, her shoulders still shaking. "Perhaps I should send your brother a message and send him your head! Do you think he'd like that?" Joffery paused and Sandor held his breath. "But Mother insists that I keep you alive. Stand up."

The girl stood and wiped her eyes. Sandor exhaled; relieved he wasn't going to kill the girl. But she was still in the Lion's Den. She was always in danger.

"So we will have to send him a message in a different manner. Ser Meryn, if you would do the honors. But not her face- I like her pretty."

Ser Meryn punched Sansa in her stomach and she doubled over, clutching herself. His second blow was to her back, and she fell to her knees. Sandor watched and allowed his anger to boil, but he remained perfectly still. "Ser Meryn, Sansa is overdressed," Joffery called. Sandor watched as Sansa's eyes widened and her arms wrapped around herself. "Unburden her."

The words came out in a hiss. Sandor glared at Ser Meryn as he walked behind Sansa and grabbed the fabric of her dress. In a swift motion, he ripped the fabric open. The girl held the ruined dress over herself, crying softly.

"If we want your brother to hear we must be louder!" Joffery yelled. Ser Meryn moved to strike her again and Sandor closed his eyes, no longer being able to watch.

"Stop!" Sandor's eyes opened and for a moment he believed he had spoken out, but instead he saw the Imp waddling between the people present. His mismatched eyes glared at his nephew. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Her traitor brother-"

"Is thousands of leagues away! How could she have been a part of anything he has done? Someone give her something to cover herself with for Gods' sake!" Tyrion Lannister said. He approached the king and began speaking to him in hushed tones. No one moved to help her.

Sandor walked swiftly to the girl and pulled of the white cloak of the Kingsguard. He dropped it over her shoulders and she quickly pulled it around herself. Her eyes flicked up to him in a slight thank you. He turned away from her and returned to his position. The Imp returned to the girl and held out his hand for her. Timidly, she accepted it and stood. Her hand-servants rushed to her and lead her out of the Red Keep.

"Clegane," Tyrion said. "I will be needing your services. If you would, please." The Imp began to leave the throne room and Sandor followed him, not bothering to look at the king. He had plenty of other knights to keep him safe- he did not need Sandor too.

The Imp led him away from the Red Keep and out into the gardens. No one was ever in the gardens, save for the Queen. But she had stopped coming after Eddard Stark had been beheaded. They were alone, except for the sell sword the Imp had.

"Clegane, I need you to protect the Stark girl. My brother has been captured by Robb Stark and she is the only bargaining chip we have to get him back. My nephew is a fool and will kill her instantly if he is given the chance, but we need her alive. Will you be her Sworn Shield?"

Sandor looked down at the little man. The Imp was asking him to protect the girl from his nephew's wrath. It would not be an easy task- Joffery never listened to Sandor and if he stopped one of the knights from beating her, he would probably be executed. But the little bird did need some to watch out for her.

The image of how she looked on the way to King's Landing flashed in Sandor's mind. She smiled then, really smiles. Her eyes weren't dull and she was full of life. Now she was just an empty body. Her hope was gone, and with it, her innocence.

"All right, Imp," Sandor growled. "I'll protect the girl."

"Thank you," Tyrion said, smiling. "I really do appreciate this-"

"It's not for you," he hissed. Sandor turned and stormed out of the garden wondering if he made the right choice. He would be taking a big risk, protecting the girl. It would not be an easy task, but at least he would be able to stop some of her physical beatings. Although, he couldn't do a thing about the emotional ones.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa

Sansa sat at her vanity looking into the mirror. The bruise she had received from Ser Preston a fortnight ago had healed. She stood and lifted the skirt of her dress up past her stomach to look at the bruise there. It had faded from its hateful purple color to a sickening yellow and green. She believed it would heal fully soon enough. Sighing, she dropped her skirts and returned to bushing her hair. Since her beating at Court, Joffery had left Sansa alone. She hadn't seen the members of the Kingsguard looming around her, and for that she was grateful.

"Your bath is ready, my lady." The servant girl was new. The Queen kept changing her servants. Why, Sansa wasn't sure, but she stopped caring. The girls were only there to spy on her- Sansa was sure of that.

"Thank you. You are dismissed for the remainder of the evening, please tell the other maid as well."

"Yes, my lady. Good night, my lady."

Sansa watched her leave her chambers and turned to look back at the mirror. She didn't want to take a bath. Not because she wanted to remain dirty- Sansa detested being dirty. It was because she didn't want to have to see all the bruises and scars on her body. There was once a time when Sansa's body was perfect from head to toe. It seemed like thousands of years ago. Before Joffery had had her father killed. Before her father killed Lady and before she hated Joffery.

Standing, Sansa untied the strings of her dress and walked into her bathing room. She looked at the water and sighed again. She walked into the water, wincing at how hot it was. It was already hot in King's Landing, but Sansa preferred to have her bath water hot. The water was so hot it numbed her skin and she no longer felt the pain of her beatings. Taking a deep breath, Sansa dunked under the water. She opened her eyes and looked up at the surface of the water.

It was peaceful under the water. It was quiet. It was safe. If only Sansa could live beneath the water. She would swim in the Gods Eye or across the Narrow Sea. Joffery, Ser Meryn, Ser Preston, Ser Boros, none of them could reach her if she swam on the sea's bottom. She would be safe and never have to worry about another man striking her again.

The burning pain in her lungs forced her back up to the surface. Sansa felt like she might cry. Joffery ruled over her on land, she couldn't escape to the sea, and even though Sandor Clegane called her 'little bird' she could not take off to the sky.

The image of the Hound popped into Sansa's mind at the thought of being a bird. The half of his face that was burned off still frightened her. The scars were worse than hers, but he had been burned, she had been beaten with fists. She shook her head to remove his face from her thoughts and returned to washing herself.

Pulling herself from the bath, Sansa wrapped herself in a fresh towel. Her maids must have come in during her bath and laid out a nightgown for her. The fabric was soft and breezy and a gentle orange color. Sansa slipped it over her body and looked in the mirror. It covered the bruises on her legs, but not on her arms.

Biting her lower lip, Sansa looked longingly at her bedchamber door. She had free rein of the castle, so long as she stayed inside, surely the Queen wouldn't mind if she wondered around for a little while before going to bed. She had trouble sleeping anyway.

Summoning her courage, she opened the door and closed it softly behind her. With new found giddiness, Sansa ran through the hallways, a smile on her lips. The act of smiling almost made her cheeks hurt, because she hadn't done it so long. Running through the corridors made Sansa think of Arya and her smile fell from her lips as quickly as it had come.

"What are you going out of bed, little bird?" Sansa turned and looked up into the stormy grey eyes of the Hound. Normally his voice would have frightened her, but this time she wasn't afraid. She had come to expect him walking in the shadows and speaking to her when her back was turned.

"I can't sleep," she said. Her voice sound exhausted. "I thought I would go to the gardens for a while before going to bed."

The Hound's eyes looked her up and down slowly and Sansa remembered how thin her nightdress was. She squirmed under his gaze and crossed her arms in front of her chest uneasily. He left out a sigh and placed his huge hand on her shoulder.

"The King would not want you to go walking alone. Even throughout the castle. I will take you to the gardens and return you to your cage, little bird."

Sansa wanted to scream. She couldn't go anywhere without some form of bodyguard. Or capturer. She was never alone. She was never with peace. All she wanted was to run through the halls finally feeling free. She wanted to be without a Kingsguard knight breathing down her neck and she wanted to be free from Joffery and his mother. But Sansa Stark wasn't a wolf anymore. She was a pretty little songbird and she had to sing what people wanted her to sing.

"Okay," she said turning away from him and continuing to the gardens. Her head hung low and her shoulders were slumped. She didn't care if the Hound thought she was utterly defeated, because, in reality, she was.

Sandor

She had slumped her shoulders and surrendered to him. He hadn't expected her to fight, but he hoped she would. He wanted to believe she had some emotions left her in sprit, but it seemed Joffery had even taken hate from her. Sandor at least had hate.

He walked behind her so he wouldn't disturb her anymore. He had watched her run from her cage with a smile on her lips and watched as it quickly faded from her face. He didn't know why she smiled or what made her stop smiling, but he was happy he had at least seen the smile while it lasted.

Sandor stopped walking and stood still for a moment. It had made him… happy. He couldn't remember the last time he was happy. Not when he was named champion at the tourney for the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark. Not even when he killed a man. Sansa Stark, the little songbird and made him happy.

And he had no idea why.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa

Sansa was glad that the Hound stayed outside the gardens, leaving her alone among the plants. He might have her trapped, but at least he was giving her some freedom. The other knights wouldn't even give her that.

Sansa leaned down and smelled a rose. The scent was sweet, but not her favorite. She would have preferred lilacs. Sighing, she turned away and looked down at her hands. The garden was beautiful, but its beauty couldn't chase away her fears. No matter where she was or who was with her, she was always afraid.

Afraid Joffery may kill her. Afraid he would bring her Robb's head on a silver platter. Afraid he would marry her and put a son inside her. Afraid Ser Ilyn would bring Ice in a mighty arch over _her _neck. She was afraid of almost everything.

Her Tully blue eyes looked up to the entrance of the gardens. Although she couldn't see the Hound, she knew he was here- guarding her exit. Why couldn't he just have let her roam the halls alone? She couldn't leave the castle; guards were everywhere. She was trapped.

Tears welded in her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. If Septa Mordane could see her now, how she would scold her. But her septa was dead and couldn't scold her now. Again Sansa looked toward the exit. If she looked closely, she could see the Hound's huge shadow loaming across the doorway.

"Hound," she called, not knowing what else to call him. She couldn't say 'ser' or 'my lord'- he wasn't either of the two and hated being called such. Dog seemed too informal and his name too formal.

"What?" He did not enter the garden or even turn to look at her. It appeared like he hadn't even moved.

"Why?"

There was the sound a shifting armor as the Hound moved to stand in the doorway. The shadows covered his half burned face, but the side Sansa could see was looking at her with weariness and confusion. "Why what, little bird?"

"Why did you stop me from pu-" The Hound moved so quickly that before Sansa could blink he was in front of her, holding a hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened at how close he was to her, and she felt very afraid.

"Shut up, girl," he growled. "Do you want to be executed?" His voice was harsh, but not completely cruel. "I took you for being a smart one, not stupid. If you want to survive you should know better not to speak of that."

Sansa pulled his hand from her mouth and took a step away from him. "I don't care. Why did you do it?"

"Are you blind, girl? Do you not see the white cloak on my back? Did you forget I am the King's Sworn Shield? I have to keep the bastard save. If he dies, _I_ die," his voice came out in a hiss, but he didn't sound angry at Sansa… he just sounded angry. "I don't know about you, but I don't plan on dying any time soon."

"Joffery is stronger than I am," she pressed. "He could have easily pushed me off and not have fallen. Why did you stop me?"

His grey eyes pierced her and Sansa believed the Hound was looking right into her soul. He no longer looked angry or hateful. He looked slighted nonplussed. Then the confusion was gone and the normal anger reappeared.

"I don't know; I just did. It that a good enough answer for you?" He was scowling now and Sansa found herself wondering if he ever smiled. If he only snarled and growled like a real dog. She wondered what he would do if she asked. Would he strike her? Laugh at her? Ignore her? Her eyes fell to look at the bruises on her arms. If the rest of the Kingsguard could give her bruises, Sansa was almost certain the Hound could break her bones. He was stronger than the rest on them.

"Do you know why he doesn't make you hit me?" she whispered quietly. The words fell from her mouth with warning, and she winced fearing the answer. The Hound noticed and took a step away from her.

"No." He paused for moment, and Sansa began to wonder why she had bothered to talk to him at all. "Time to go back to your cage, little bird."

Her blue eyes swept over the gardens for a final time and she nodded her head. Walking slowly, she past him and exited the gardens, heading back to her bedchamber. The Hound was right- it was a cage.

Her blue eyes flickered to him as they walked. He was looking straight ahead, his lips a hard line. Again Sansa wondered what he looked like if he smiled. Focusing her eyes forward, Sansa retreated into the farthest depths of her mind, thinking to herself. Her bedchamber door came into view and they approached it quickly. Her hand reached out and held onto the handle, but she stopped and looked up at him.

"Thank you for escorting me, Hound." Her septa might have been died, but her manners weren't, or at least shouldn't be. The Hound looked down at her, and this time, Sansa couldn't tell what he was feeling or thinking. "Good night." Her voice was gentle, and she opened the door, stealing one last glance at his face. Sansa swore she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

She closed the door and leaned against the wood, her eyes slowly peering around her room. They landed on her vanity where her brush still lay. Crossing the room quickly, she opened the jewelry box that sat on the corner of the table. The necklace Joffery had given her was on top- she had to wear it every day. She pushed it out of the way and dug to the bottom of the box where a small white cloth spotted with blood was hidden.

Sansa took the handkerchief out of the box and closed the lid. She looked to the door, almost expecting the Hound to be standing there watching her. But her cage door was still shut. Sansa stood and walked to her bed with the cloth still clutched tightly in her hand. She pulled back the silk sheets on her bed and slipped in between them, pulling them up around her chin.

Blowing out the lit candle beside her bed, Sansa curled up into a little ball, fingering the handkerchief. Thoughts of the Hound drifted into her mind. She fell asleep clutching the scrap fabric that the Hound had used to wipe away her blood, and for the first time sense her father's death, Sansa Stark slept without a single nightmare plaguing her.


	5. Chapter 5

Sandor

Sandor awoke covered in sweat, his heart racing and panting. He could almost feel the fire licking at his face and hear his screams as Gregor held his face in the flames. The nightmare was a reoccurring one- at least every week he was jerked awake by it.

It was cold in his room. The window was open and a rare breeze drifted to him from it. The candle had long since burned out and Sandor sat in the soft light of the sunrise. He grabbed his hair on the side of his head where it still grew and exhaled roughly. His grey eyes flickered to where his armor and white Kingsguard cloak hung on the wall. He was used to being the first one awake and ready.

Pulling himself out of the bed, Sandor changed into his armor and fastened the cloak on his shoulders. He hated the thing. It meant he had to protect Joffery, and if something went wrong and the boy was hurt- Sandor had a big white target on his back.

He parted his hair to the side, partly covering the scars on his face, without bothering to look in the spider-cracked mirror. Sandor hated the way he looked, and punched every mirror he had ever owned until it shattered. His eyes looked over his small, bare room again and he scowled. Sandor through open his bedroom door and slammed it behind him. The other Kingsguard members should be awake now anyway.

He stormed through the hallways, the noise of his boots hitting the stone floor bouncing off the walls. He was in a bad mood, as usual. He started his rounds, growling at those he passed. When he approached the door of the Stark girl, he was surprised to hear movement inside her cage.

She preferred sleeping in. Sandor knew this because Joffery often sent him to wake her if she wasn't down in the Red Keep the moment he wanted her to be. But today she was awake early. It was odd. It wasn't right.

Staying outside her door, Sandor leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. It wouldn't be an odd sight, him standing there. At least one knight stood station outside her door before she woke and as she fell asleep. Joffery didn't post guards there in the dead of night- he figured his Lady needed her beauty sleep and wouldn't be roaming the halls heading to the garden.

There was a crash and then he heard the girl scream. His heart stopped and his blood froze. It wasn't a short, startled scream- it was a long, loud, terrified scream. He pulled out his sword and moved to the door, forcing it open and breaking the lock.

Sansa was huddled in the corner by her bed, shaking. In her hands she clutched her pillow, holding it out like a shield- terror in her blue eyes. Her eyes found him and relief flooded them.

"Stop him," she begged. "Please don't let him come near me!"

Sandor looked around her cage, but saw no one. There were no windows for someone to enter or exit from; even her bath chamber was empty. He looked back at the girl who still sat shaking, breathing fast.

"Who, girl?" he asked, his voice rough. She flinched at his tone of voice, and Sandor felt a tinge of guilt. Damn, what was the girl doing to him? She was making him _feel_.

"Ser Meryn," she whimpered. "He was here, I swear he was. Please, don't let him hurt me anymore." She sound fragile and scared, but there was no one in her cage. Sandor closed her door and put away his sword. Slowly so as not to frighten the girl more, he moved toward her and knelt in front of her.

"There is no one here, little bird," he said, trying to keep the roughness out of his voice. "Meryn is still in bed asleep- I am the only Kingsguard member awake at the moment. No one is in here."

Sansa looked at the ground and shook her head, covering her ears with her hands. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could and rocked herself. "No. You're wrong. He was _here_. He was beating me. He took out his sword and was laughing at me. His sword was Ice! He was going to kill me with Ice!"

Sandor pulled her hands from her ears, holding them in one large hand and her chin in the other. He titled her face upward and waited for her to open her eyes. "We are alone," he repeated softly. "Your father's sword is hanging in the Red Keep. Meryn is asleep. There is no one here."

Her eyes filled with tears and she threw herself into his arms. For a small girl, she had a tight grip. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her face was buried into his shoulder. Sobs escaped her lips and she shook, holding herself against him, as his arms involuntarily wrapped around her waist. Sandor had no idea what to do.

Kill a man? He could do that. Protect the King? He could do that too. Console a crying girl? No. No, he most certainly could _not _do that.

"What is wrong with me?" she whispered against his armor. "Am I going crazy, Sandor?" She had called him by his name. Not Hound or Dog, but Sandor. She had called him Sandor.

"No, little bird, you are not going mental. You had a nightmare." His voice was surprisingly gentle.

"I didn't have one all night… I thought I was finally going to get a good night's rest." Her sobs had stopped, but she still hugged herself against his chest. "I have had a nightmare every night since Father died. It's usually Ser Ilyn, but as of late, it's been of Ser Meryn or Joffery. They beat me senseless, and only when I beg for death does the dream end and I wake up." Her voice was hardly above a whisper. "Do you have nightmares, Sandor?"

She had asked him a question. Did he have nightmares? Yes. Yes he did. But why would he tell her about them? Telling her about his dreams would mean telling her about Gregor burning his face with he was only six years old. Somehow he didn't believe that would make her stop crying.

"No. I don't have nightmares," he lied. She stiffed against him and pulled away. His arms fell from her body and he stood, taking a step away from her. She too stood, wearing that thing orange nightdress. Her eyes were angry.

"Liar," she hissed. "Everyone has nightmares. Just some people are braver and admit it." She was angry with him now. Good, at least she was feeling something other than pain. Sandor welcomed her anger. It allowed him to forget the feel of her in his arms.

"Saying you have nightmares does not make you brave." His tone matched hers, but she did not flinch. Her blue eyes blazed with a new fire and taunted him.

"Admitting something you don't want to admit does. It means you trust the other person and are brave enough to tell them what scares you."

"I don't trust anyone. And neither should you." He was quick, moving toward her and pinning her against the wall, his face directly in front of hers "You didn't say my name in your list of the people in your nightmare, girl. So tell me, do I scare you?" He had her stuck against the wall; there was no where she could escape to. She should have been terrified. Yet instead, she smiled up at him.

"No, Sandor. You don't scare me."

"And why is that?" His voice was now a hiss, but Sansa Stark's smile did not waver. Instead, her hand slipped easily out of his grip on her wrist and touched his burnt face. Her eyes fingers softly caressed the scared skin. Her eyes watched her hand and then flickered to his stormy grey eyes.

"You just… don't." Her voice was as soft as her touch.

Sandor grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. "You should be afraid. I am not a nice or safe man, little bird. You should be terrified of me." His voice was not unkind, but the smile fell from her face.

"Do you want me to fear you?"

He stepped away and turned from her. "Fear everyone, little bird." His voice was a whisper. "Fear me, fear the King, fear the Queen. Fear the people of King's Landing, Riverrun and even the people of Winterfell. Fear your own family. You don't know who can hurt you."

"Or burn you." Her voice was softer than his had been. He whirled around and looked her, shock in his eyes. She knew. Someone had told her about his burns. "Lord Baelish told me… are you going to hurt me?" she asked. "He told me not all the knights in King's Landing could protect me if I toward you."

There was no rage in Sandor's body. He wasn't angry. He just felt tired and slightly defeated. After all he had done to try and protect his dark secret, Littlefinger had still found out. And he had told the girl.

"He was wrong, little bird. I am not going to hurt you."

Sansa walked toward him and touched his wrist. "That is why I will not fear you, Sandor. You aren't going to hurt me."

"Watch what you say, Joffery will have me beat you if he hears you." He pulled his wrist away from her touch and moved to her cage door.

"Sandor," she said as he opened it.

"What?"

"I… I wanted to say… I won't tell anyone." He nodded and stepped outside. "Wait, that wasn't what I was going to say." He turned to her, his eyebrow raised.

"What, little bird?"

"Thank you for… holding me."

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that. So again he nodded and walked down the corridor with the feel of her touch still lingering on his scared face.


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa

Sansa walked behind Joffery keeping her head down. She wasn't paying attention to what he was saying. She was focusing on Sandor. She had reached out and touched his face. His skin was rough, much like his voice, but she didn't mind. She remembered how his eyes had widened slightly at her touch, and how he had stared at her intently as she caressed his skin.

She wanted to touch his face again. She wanted to feel how different the two sides of his face felt beneath her fingers, but she knew better. Sansa hadn't dared to look at Sandor during Court for fear she would blush or do something irrational that would get her or him killed. She had snuck a look at him out of the corner of her eye as they left the Red Keep, but that was all. She was disappointed to find he was looking straight ahead.

It was dangerous for her not to be listening to Joffery. She should have been paying attention; because sooner or later he would ask her a question and would more likely that not have her beaten if she didn't answer correctly. But Sansa couldn't concentrate on whatever Joff was talking about. It was no doubt about the war and how he would kill her brother or his uncle. Sansa doubted whether he could even hold his blade above his head, let alone_ kill _some older and stronger than him.

"What do you think, my Lady?" His voice was aloof and he did not turn to look at her. He would not know she was not paying him any mind at all. "Five sons should be enough, don't you think?"

He was talking about their future children. He wanted all boys and not a single girl. "Girls are weak," he told her, "and can't rule a kingdom." Joffery was even in the process of choosing names for their sons. Sansa hated every name he suggested, but told him otherwise.

"I will give you as many sons as you wish, Your Grace." She was lucky. Next time if she stopped listening he would know sooner. But how could she focus on him when her mind was full of the events that had happened just that morning? The feel of Sandor's arms around her still lingered on her skin, giving her the comfort of protection.

Joffery stopped and turned toward her. He grabbed her chin in his hand and tilted her face upward. She saw a sickening smirk on his wormy lips. "You are right. You will give me all the sons I desire. Not a single girl will be born, do you hear me? A girl would ruin our line and then Tommen will be my heir. He can't rule the kingdoms."

"Of course, Your Highness. Not a single girl." Sansa prayed her first born wasn't a girl, but secretly wished it wasn't. She had always wanted a daughter, but feared what would happen if she had one. Joffery would probably have the babe plucked from her breast and killed, demanding a boy. So when Sansa went to the Godswood, she prayed to the Mother for her safety and a son.

Joffery released her chin and turned from her. They continued down the corridor with Ser Boros and Sandor behind them. Sansa was thankful it was Ser Boros following the King and not Ser Meryn. She could hardly look at him after her nightmare. And besides, Ser Boros didn't hit as hard.

"Tell me Sansa," Joffery said as they walked. "Do you want sons or daughters?"

"I wish to have whatever child you want to have, Your Grace," she answered. "If you want sons, then I shall desire sons. Should you want daughters, I shall hope for daughters. I wish to give you an heir, my King."

That was what Joffery wanted to hear. He grabbed her hand and forced her to stop. His wormy lips now formed a smile and Sansa compelled her lips to mirror his own. She wasn't certain what he was going to do to her. He appeared to be in a good mood, and she prayed it last. She hadn't gone anything to make his temper flare-surely he wouldn't beat her.

His hand cupped her cheek and Sansa understood he wanted a kiss. Okay, she could do that. They had kissed before; it wasn't a new experience for her. Although, it now stirred disgusting feelings inside of her rather, than butterflies in her stomach. At first, she had felt as light as air when he kissed her, but now, if he kissed her at Court, she felt like it was a sign of imprisonment. It screamed, you are mine and I can do anything I want to to you.

Joffery leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She stayed perfectly still; Joffery didn't like her touching him. But this time, he wanted her to. He pulled her closer to him, crushing her body to his. His lips her hard and firm on hers, forcing her mouth open beneath his. His tongue slipped unwanted into her mouth. She fought against him, not expecting him to do something like that.

He held her arms at her sides, and pressed her back against the wall so she could not run. Sansa hated the feel of his tongue in her mouth. She buckled her body against his, but he took that as a sign of approval, now moaning into her mouth. Sansa suddenly didn't care about what he would do to her. She didn't care if he would kill her. She bit down onto his tongue.

He pushed her away from him, throwing her to the floor. Rage shone in his green eyes as he looked down on her. She hadn't bitten down hard enough to draw blood, but enough to cause pain. They were silent as he glared down at her. Their chests rose and fell at rapid paces- hers in fear and his in anger.

"Dog. Punish her."

Sansa's eyes widened and she looked up at Sandor. He stood with his hands together; his head bowed looking at the ground.

"Dog," Joffery repeated, more anger leaking into his voice. "Punish her!"

Sandor moved to her, slowly and pulled her up but the fabric of her dress. Sorrow reflected in his grey eyes as he took his hand and smacked her across her face. It hurt far worse than any of Ser Meryn's hits.

"Again! And harder!"

Sandor created a fist in his hand and Sansa could tell he clenched his teeth together. His fist collided with her stomach and she fell to her knees trying to catch her breath. Pain shot up all across her body, but she kept her scream locked inside of her mouth.

"Again!" Sandor back handed her, and her head whipped to the other side, almost hitting the stone wall. She was wrong, very wrong. Sandor hit the hardest. Her body almost radiated pain. She grabbed her stomach and moaned, falling to the floor. "Kick her!" A boot struck her in her back and she arched in pain, this time screaming.

She looked up at Joffery who stood above her with a smirk on his face. "Next time when your King kisses you, you will respond enthusiastically and do exactly what I want you to do." He swept past her, Ser Boros following him, only Sandor remained. He reached out for her, gently picking her up and into his arms.

Despite the pain that he had inflicted on her body, she relaxed in his arms, resting her head on his chest. She closed her eyes as he carried her back to her bedchamber. She allowed her eyes to close as she succumbed to the pain. She had never felt pain as intense at the pain she felt at that moment. She felt blood slip into her mouth and on her tongue, not that she was surprised. Ser Meryn often made her blood, and Sandor's hits made his seem like a lover's caress.

Sandor

Sandor kicked open her bedchamber door and used his foot to close it behind them. As gently as he could manage, he placed her on the bed. Blood was coming from her lip and a small cut under her eye where his mailed glove had cut her. Her eyes were closed tightly, and her arms wrapped around her stomach. It appeared like she was trying to literally hold herself together.

He had hit her. Joffery had ordered him to beat her. He had held back as much as he could, but even that still hurt her. He could still hear the sound of her scream as his boot made contact with her back.

His grey eyes found the blood stained handkerchief he had given her laying on the nightstand beside her bed. He picked it up and for the second time, wiped the blood from her cheek and the cut under her eye. Sandor could see the pain in her face and felt a wave of guilt and anger crash into him.

Quickly, he stood and walked away from her bedside. He couldn't bring himself to leave her there. He began to pace, gripping his hair. He didn't know how long she would be stuck in bed for. Hells, he didn't know if she could _walk_. He shouldn't have kicked her. He shouldn't have hit her. He should have beaten Joffery.

He turned toward the wall, drew back his fist, and hit it as hard as he possibly could. What he was hoping to accomplish by hitting a stone wall, he didn't know. Pain shot through his knuckles but Sandor knew he hadn't broken anything. The armor he wore on his hands protected him from most of the damage. But that still left him in the same place- worrying about the girl. Only know he too had a throbbing pain.

A whimper escaped her lips and he whirled to look at her. Her blue eyes were open and her hand was out stretched for him. He went to her slowly. He could see the ache of pain in her eyes and almost pulled back. Surely she wouldn't want him near her after what he had done to her. But her hand grabbed his and pulled him to her, so he knelt beside on her on the floor.

"I… don't… blame… you." Her voice was a whispered and it sounded as if it pained her to speak. But he had heard what she said. She didn't blame him. "Joffery… told you… to do… it. I…under…stand." She had to take pauses to breathe in order to speak.

"I am so sorry, little bird," he whispered to her. "I didn't want to-"

"I… know. Please… go get my… maids. I… need to… bathe and re…lax." Her breath was shaky, but at least a little strong. Yet she wanted him to leave her. Leave her. Alone. No. No he couldn't just _leave _her. His mind flashed back to him beating her.

"All right. I will go get them. I will be right back." Gently, he pulled his hand from hers and stood, looming over her. Tyrion Lannister had asked him to protect her. And he had beaten her worse than any of the other knights. He went to her door and opened it, closing it softly behind him. Her maids would be in her quarters, not too far from her cage. He wouldn't be gone for long.

How could this have happened? Wasn't it just that morning she was in his arms? Touching his face? Whispering that he didn't scare her? Now he had beaten her. He had raised a hand and smacked her beautiful face. Then image of a blonde haired, green eyed boy entered Sandor's mind and rage filled him. He hated the bastard. He wanted to run his sword through Joffery's back, just as his uncle did to the Mad King.

His hands balled into fists, and he had to pause for a few moments so he wouldn't punch the wall again. His right hand still throbbed painfully, but he ignored it. It was nothing compared to what Sansa must have been going through.

Sandor found the entrance to the maid's chambers and pounded loudly on the door. There were muffled voices, one sounding male the other female. "One moment please!" a woman called from inside. It was the new girl Sansa had, Shae. He took a step back as the woman opened and closed the door in a flash.

Her hair was wild, her lips swollen, and her eyes fierce. Sandor understood why there was a man in her rooms. "Yes, milord?"

He bit back a growl. "Lady Stark needs her handmaids now." His voice was rough and there was fury laced into his words. The woman could tell. She nodded her head and tried to smooth down her wild mess of hair. She walked briskly down the corridor, Sandor following behind her. He could see her peaking over her shoulder at him. She was curious as to why he was summoning her.

At Sansa's bedchamber door, Shae turned to him. "Stay outside. I may need to bathe her." It was a command, not a request. Sandor didn't mind her telling him what to do. Anyone else, he probably would have laughed and done what he pleased. This time he was willing to listen. She opened the door and Sandor heard her sharp intake of breath as her eyes landed on her lady, before she closed it.

"Lady Stark, what happened?" Shae's voice was faint, but he could still hear her. "Who did this to you?"

Sansa's reply was much too quiet for him to hear. For that he was glad- he couldn't stand the thought of her saying his name as an answer to that question.

"Ser Boros? I thought Ser Meryn beat you the worst." Boros? She had told her maid Boros had beaten her? Sandor couldn't believe it. She lied to her maid. "I'll draw your bath, my lady."

Sandor reminded by her door, his head down. He could hear Shae pouring in Sansa's bath water, but he could no longer hear what they were saying, if they were speaking. His mind was still wrapping around the idea that Sansa had lied to Shae. He didn't know why she would- Shae seemed to be the only person Sansa could trust.

How long he waited outside her door, he wasn't certain. He didn't look up when people passed him, and didn't respond if they tried to speak to him. It appeared that he was asleep on the job. He didn't care what the maids or servants thought. The other men in the Kingsguard also slept when guarding her door, why couldn't he appear to?

The door to her room cracked open and out stepped Shae. She looked up at Sandor and gave him a small, half-smile. "Thank you for bringing her back here. Her wounds are the worst she has been given, but she is strong. Her speech as at least improved. I will bring the maester to her in the morning. She needs her rest now." She paused and touched his wrist as Sansa had done and lowered her voice, "Sansa is asking for you."

She withdrew her hand and left him, walking back to her quarters. Sandor's eyes looked at Sansa's door. She was asking for him. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the handle and walked inside. She was sitting up on her bed, her pillows at her back. Her auburn hair was wet and Shae had changed her into a blue nightdress.

"You asked for me?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"I wanted to thank you-"

"Thank me? I _beat_ you! Do you thank Ser Meryn after he hits you?"

"No! I wanted to thank you for bringing me back here! The other knights would have just left me on the floor for Shae to find me. You carried me and brought me Shae!" There was a silence between the two after she spoke.

"You're welcome," he replied. It was the best he could come up with it. Feeling rather embarrassed, he turned to leave.

"Wait! Sandor, stop!"

He turned to look at her and rushed to her. Sansa had climbed from her bed and was clutching her bed post to support herself. He wrapped an arm around her waist and attempted to lay her back down on the bed.

"No. Just stay here for a moment," she said, one hand still gripping the bed post. Her other hand was resting on his chest, as was her forehead. She was breathing softly.

"Sansa?" He pulled away from her, but kept his arm around her to keep her from falling. He knelt slightly so their faces were the same height and he gently shook her. "Sansa, are you all right?"

Her blue eyes studied his, never looking anywhere back his eyes. Sandor could feel her moving closer toward him and then felt her lips on his. He was not expecting that. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and pulled her closer to him. He responded to her, slightly tightening his hold around her waist.

She surprised him and opened her mouth. Sandor followed her lead, letting her do what she wanted. She was hesitant at first, but quickly began a dance with their tongues. They fought for dominance, although Sandor wasn't fighting too hard. He knew she was hurt. He found one of his hands knotted into her hair and both of hers resting on his neck. His other arm was wrapped securely around her waist to keep her up right.

They broke away, their chests raising and falling rapidly. A smile spread across both of their lips. Sandor couldn't believe the last time he had smiled.

"Please, stay," she whispered. "I don't want to have another nightmare." Her eyes were shining with innocence and happiness.

"I can't stay, little bird," he whispered gently. "I have to continue with my rounds and then go to my own quarters."

"Then can you wake me when you did earlier? I don't want to have that dream again. Please, Sandor." Fear now flashed in her eyes.

"I will do that," he promised. "But you must sleep now. You can't even stand on your own." He took her in his arms and laid her onto her bed, pulling the sheets up around her because it seemed like the right thing to do. "Good night." He turned to go.

"Sandor?"

"Hm?"

"Could you…" her voice trailed off and she turned a soft shade of pink.

"Could I what, Sansa?" he asked. He found he rather liked the sound of her name on his lips.

"Kiss me again?" Her voice was small, timid and she was looking down at her sheets, playing with them. Sandor smiled at her.

He moved toward her and took her hands in his. Softly, he kissed her forehead, then her nose, and as gently as he could, her lips. "Good night, little bird," he whispered as he pulled away, his lips still slightly brushing hers.

"Good night, Sandor."

Sandor exited her room and didn't bother with his rounds. He went straight to his own room, and stripped out of his armor. He fell onto the bed and closed his eyes, as a content sigh escaped his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa

_"Do it Ser Ilyn! If you won't then I'll do it for you, you bloody fool!" Joffery's voice rang out against the walls in the Red Keep, his face turning a bright shade of red. _

_ Ser Ilyn stood with his face in the ever present stone mask, his hands tightly gripping the hilt of Ice. The steel shimmered in the candle light, memorizing Sansa. Her eyes gazed up and down her father's sword in complete and utter awe. Suddenly, Ice was dripping with blood and her father's head rolled out from behind Ser Ilyn. Sansa screamed._

_ Joffery stormed down the steps from the Iron Throne, grapping the sword from the King's Justice. "Hold her!" _

_ Ser Preston and Ser Mandon grabbed a hold of Sansa. Ser Preston held her arms behind her back, and Ser Mandon gripped her hair, yanking her head back, exposing her neck. Joffery raised Ice in one hand- a two handed sword in one hand!- and pressed the tip into the soft skin of her neck._

_ "You dare," he hissed, pressing the sword deeper into her skin. Sansa felt a droplet of blood trickle down her neck to her chest. "You dare to _pray _for your stupid family? They are all traitors! I will have every single one of them killed! Do you hear me? Even your pathetic cripple of a brother! They will all die, just like your wolf!"_

_ "Leaver her be!" The rough voice of Sandor rumbled against the stones. Sansa's eyes found him. He stood in the entrance of the Red Keep, in shining, black armor. In his hands he held a massive sword, twice the size of Ice. Its steel was as black as his armor, it hilt a terrifying, snarling dog._

_ Joffery only laughed at Sandor, his green eyes narrowing dangerously. He turned to Sansa, ignoring her savior. "Do you really expect a dog to save you from a lion?" _

Sansa awoke gasping, one hand on her heart, the other at her neck. There was no trace of blood. She was safe. Her heart was pounding against her chest, threatening to burst from her. Breathing deeply and slowly, Sansa was able to slow her frighten heart.

She attempted to swing her legs out of her bed so she could go to her vanity to brush her hair, but a sharp pain attacked her stomach. Events from the previous day came rushing back to her mind.

Touching Sandor's face, the feel of his hand on her skin as he smacked her. His lips on hers as she kissed him. And his gentle goodnight kiss. Had it all been a dream? Certainly the beating wasn't- she could feel the soreness in her body. But had she really kissed him?

Her fingers went to her lips. A tingling sensation shot through them at her touch. Sansa could feel his lips on hers. No it had not been a dream. She had kissed him. She had kissed Sandor. Her heart fluttered in her chest and a warm, happy feeling flooded her body. She remembered feeling that way when she first seen Joffery. But what she was feeling now, it was greater than that. It was better. Much, much better.

A knock at her door startled her, and she jumped, grimacing at the pain in her stomach. "Come in." She tried to keep her voice strong, although doing so was very hard.

"I heard what happened, little dove." The queen walked over to her, sitting on her bed and taking her hand in hers. Her eyes widened as she looked at her face and Sansa knew she must have new bruises on her cheeks. "Which knight was it this time?"

"Ser Boros, Your Grace," Sansa replied. She refused to name Sandor the man who struck her for fear something terrible might happen to him. "It was Ser Boros who hit me."

"My son said the Hound hit you." The queen's voice was challenging. She knew Sandor had beaten her; she wanted to see how long Sansa would lie to her.

"I believe my love is mistaken, your Highness," Sansa said. She put her free hand to her forehead and sighed. "I remember Ser Boros's striking me… but if Joff says it was the Hound, then I suppose it was the Hound."

Pride shined in the queen's green eyes. "Good answer, Sansa. Always side with your King. What he says is the law, and once my son makes up his mind, nothing can change it. I will speak with my son and try to convince him against using the Hound to… educate you again. I hate to see you hurting, little dove."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa whispered.

The queen smiled at her and stood. She leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "You rest now, Sansa. Grand Maester Pycelle will be here shortly. I suspect you will have to stay in bed for a few days."

Sansa watched the queen exit gracefully from her chambers and looked up at the ceiling, sighing sadly. She didn't mind the queen. She was giving her advice on how to survive her son, but she still kept her locked away in the castle. If she truly didn't want to see her hurting, then she would let her go home.

The queen wasn't wrong- Grand Maester Pycelle told her to stay in bed for the next week. Despite the beating being the worse she had suffered since becoming a prisoner in King's Landing, Maester Pycelle swore she would recover quickly. Whether she believed him or not depended on how her body felt.

At the current moment, she wasn't in much pain. She lay on her side, facing away from her door. She was glad Maester Pycelle said she was free to move on her bed. Her room had no windows, so there was no way to look outside, but a large tapestry hung on the wall opposite of her door and that was what she was looking at.

Her father had brought it with them when they left Winterfell, and Sansa had barely managed to convince the queen to let her keep it. It was as big as Sansa's bed sheets and a rich, dark black. Along the border, were silver direwolves. They chased themselves around the tapestry, the tail of one wolf touching the mouth of the one behind it. In the center of the fabric 'Stark' was sewn in white thread. The letters were perfectly curved and flowed together. Sansa loved it.

Joffery swore she could keep it as long as she was still a Stark. He promised to buy her a new one with stags around the border and Baratheon written in the center once they were wed. Sansa didn't want a new one. She wanted that one. It was her father's, and her grandfather's before his. Her grandfather had it made after her Uncle Brandon was born. It was meant to be a wedding present once Brandon was married, but he died in Robert's Rebellion, as did her grandfather. Her grandmother gave it to her father when he married her mother.

She heard her door open, but didn't bother to roll over to see who had entered.

"I don't care if you are bedridden; you still turn toward your King when he enters a room." Joffery's voice was annoyed and Sansa quickly rolled onto her other side to look at him. His arms were crossed against his chest, his green eyes were narrowed and a sneer graced his wormy lips.

"I am sorry, Your Grace, I was unaware that it was you who came in; I thought it was my handmaid. I would bow-"

"Save it," he growled. Sansa was very happy she was supposed to stay in bed- Joffery never had her beaten when she was healing. "Mother spoke with me. She thinks I shouldn't command the Hound to hit you again. I don't agree. I think he should beat you all the time- he hits the hardest. Maybe you would learn your lessons faster… but Mother insists not only on keeping you alive, but alive and well. So I will not use the Hound, unless you deserve it."

"Yes, Your Grace." Sansa's heart had stopped at the mention of Sandor hitting her again. He wouldn't. Surely, he wouldn't; not after last night.

Sandor

Sandor stood outside Sansa's door. The King was in there, speaking with Sansa. Sandor snorted. Speaking? It _sounded_ like threatening to him. He didn't care what Joffery commanded him to do; he wouldn't ever hit her again. He could let Gregor burn off the other half of his face before he hit her again.

"Are you frightened of my dog?" Joffery's voice was mocking. Sandor didn't want to hear the answer. Luckily enough for him, Joffery didn't give her a chance to reply. "Dog! Get in here!"

Sandor stroked into her room, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Sansa was still in bed, looking at Joffery. She had propped herself up against the headboard, and had tucked her blankets under to arms to cover her chest. As he entered, her eyes flickered to him and a small blush colored her cheeks. Joffery took that as a sign of fear.

"You are scared!" He laughed at her. "Don't worry, my Lady; dogs don't bite unless their master commands. Right, dog?"

"Yes, sire." He had to force himself not to clench his teeth, or growl his response.

Joffery looked from Sandor to Sansa, a wicked smile on his lips. "Perhaps I should leave the dog here with you," he proposed. "You'd have to be good then, wouldn't you? Or he'd beat you bloody! What do you think of that, Sansa?"

"Your Grace, I hardly think that is needed," she said. "I'm not supposed to leave my bed-"

"All the more reason!" Joffery sneered at her. "You can't run away from him, and even if you could, it wouldn't do you much good!" Turning to him, Joffery smiled again. "I want you to stay dog. If she so much as _moves_ I want her beaten until she bleeds. Someone has to keep an eye on her. Besides, I need knights around me, not pathetic guard dogs."

He didn't wait for Sandor to say anything. He swept past him, slamming the door behind him. Silence filled the room, and Sandor kept his eyes on Sansa's. She was looked at him curiously. "What?" he finally snapped.

She didn't look taken back, or even frightened. "Are you going to come here and kiss me or not?" A blush had crept up on her cheeks again, but her voice sounded strong. Sandor laughed.

"I'm not a lap dog, little bird," he replied. But that didn't stop him from walking across the room, and kissing her. Sansa pressed her body against his, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You are _not_ a dog," she whispered, resting her forehead against his as he pulled away from her.

"If I am not a dog and not a knight or a lord, what am I?"

Sansa pulled away from him, her blue eyes looking up and down him. Her hand reached out and touched the un-burnt side of his face. Her fingers traced the features of his face, before her other hand pressed against his scarred skin. She pushed his hair out of the way, and just looked at him.

"Mine." The word came out a whisper.

"And what would that make you?"

Sansa's hands left his face. She gently took one of his large hands in both of hers. She played with his hand, tracing the lines on his palm. Her eyes met his and he watched with cautious eyes as she pressed his hand to her face. His thumb traced her lips; her breath was cool on his skin.

"Yours."

Sandor smiled at her, and drew her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and he could hear her sigh. His thumb moved in a circular motion on her back, his chin resting on top of her head. He discovered his liked the feel of her wrapped in his arms.

"How are you feeling?" He was terrified she was badly hurt, but hadn't asked Pycelle when he saw him leaving her room. Even knew he was the queen's personal spy. Even Tyrion Lannister was finally catching on.

"Grand Maester Pycelle says I will be fine. The pain in my back will take the longest to heal, but as long as I remain mostly inactive for a week I will recover quickly." She shifted her head, and he pulled away slightly so she could look up at him. "I'm going to be all right."

"I will not hit you again, little bird."

Her blue eyes searched his. Her small hand found his, and she interlocked their fingers together, a smile creeping up onto her lips. "I know."


	8. Chapter 8

Sansa

Sansa had not seen Sandor since Joffery left him alone with her. It appeared the queen did not like her son ignoring her, and ordered Sandor to stay away from Sansa as she rested. Sansa was furious. Joffery couldn't tell that she was thrilled he had made Sandor stay with her the entire day. She didn't have to worry about another Kingsguard member speaking with her, and she didn't have to worry about becoming bored. She had even fallen asleep in Sandor's arms.

He knew she was tried before she did. Sandor had gently lowered her onto her back and pulled her sheets tighter around her. He made a move to stand and leave her, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him down beside her. What made her grab him, she wasn't sure. She just suddenly wanted to feel herself wrapped in his arms.

Sandor was stiff and rigid as he lay next to her, turned on his side so they were facing one another. She had moved and curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest. His arms automatically went around her and his body relaxed. They both had sighed. She had fallen asleep with a smile on her face.

Her dreams that night had been peaceful. Joffery, Ser Meryn, Ser Ilyn, not even the queen had entered her mind. Instead she dreamed of a grey wolf and a dark brown hound. The hound and wolf ran through the forests together, sniffing at the trees and drinking from small ponds. They played in the grass, chasing after the other. As the moon rose, they howled together. And as they grew tired, they cuddled around each other and fell asleep. She had never had a better dream.

"My lady," Shae's voice woke her from her slumber. "My lady, you must wake up _now_." Her hands were at her shoulders, shaking her awake. Sansa's eyes fluttered open and she yawned, pushing Shae's cold hands away from her.

"What is it Shae?" Her voice was still laced with sleep and she rubbed one eye with the back of her hand. Another yawn escaped her lips.

"Ser Preston is outside your door. The King is demanding your presence at Court today. We must hurry- he is angrier than usual."

Sansa pushed her bed sheets away from her and swung her legs out. Grand Maester Pycelle had visited her again and said she may need two weeks of bed rest. He was wrong- she only needed eight days. Today was the ninth day. Only the pain in her back reminded and it was reduced to a subtle throb.

Shae's practiced hands pulled her night gown over her head and ushered her into the waiting bath water. Sansa helped her wash her hair and quickly scrubbed at her body. She had finally finished recovering from her last beating- she didn't want to be stuck in bed again.

"Stop! I'm clean! Get my dress!" she snapped at Shae as she tried to scrub more oils into her hair. Sansa quickly ran her hands through her hair under the water to wash out the oils and pulled herself from the tub.

Shae toweled her dry and helped her into her lavender dress. She tightened the strings as Sansa ran a brush through her damp hair. Shae quickly braided the hair down her back and tied it with a white ribbon. She patted powder onto her face to conceal the healing bruises and pinched Sansa's cheeks to add a pink color.

"You're ready; go!" Shae pushed her toward the door and swung it open. Ser Preston stood in the entrance glaring down at her. He gave her a brief nod and offered her his arm. She took it without thought- Joffery demanded she did.

Their footsteps echoed in the hallways and Sansa wished that Joffery had sent Sandor instead of him. He would have held her hand and whispered exactly what she had to do to avoid Joffery's wrath. Her eyes were downcast as they entered the Red Keep. No one was speaking. Sansa's mind flashed to her last Court beating and fear shot through her.

Ser Preston led her to the center of the room and she let go of his arm. Joffery stood in front of the Iron Throne, smiling down at her. She would have preferred a smirk or a glare. Not a smile. A smile was never good.

"Hello, my lady. We have been waiting."

Sansa curtsied to him and smiled sweetly like a good little songbird. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I was unaware you wished for me to attend Court this morning."

Joffery walked slowly down the steps and stood in front of her, offering his hand. She took it and let him pull her up to the throne. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. Her body was stiff and rigid, and he pulled her against his chest. Her eyes flickered around the room, scanning for Sandor. Her heart sank when she was unable to find him.

"Bring them in!" Joffery bellowed. His arm slid around her waist, holding her to him. She suddenly feared how she would react to what Joffery wanted her to see.

The doors opened and Sandor entered. Sansa's heart fluttered, but she looked past him, to the two men being dragged in behind him in chains. They were young and wearing dented, bloody armor and furs. One man was bleeding from his lip and the other's face was black and blue with bruises. They looked up at Sansa and she saw hope and happiness shine in their eyes.

"We apologize, Your Highness," the one with the bleeding lip said. "We know we are not the most attractive things to look upon."

"I don't care how you look, you bloody fool-"

"I wasn't talking to you, boy," he spat. "I was talking to the Princess of the North- Sansa Stark."

Joffery's hold on Sansa tightened immensely, and her eyes widened. Her? A princess? "I beg your pardon, ser," she whispered, "but I am no princess."

"Your brother, Robb Stark, is the King of the North," the other man said. "That makes you the Princess of the North. We are but your humble servants, Your Grace."

Joffery threw her away from him, and she tumbled down the stairs, landing at the men's feet. "_That_ is what I think of your 'Princess of the North'!" he screamed. The two men moved to help her to her feet, but she shook her head and stood on her own.

The King was fuming. Whatever he had planned for her and been ruined by the men's words. Sansa's body felt a little sore from her fall, but nothing a long, warm bath couldn't fix. She had been thrown down those stairs many times; she knew how to deal with the pain.

"Sansa," he finally said, looking away from the men, "how would you handle this? If two men from your enemy's army was brought to you and pledged their alliance to a false king? Would you have them beaten? Whipped? Beheaded? Burned? Skinned alive?"`

"I do not know, Your Grace. I will never have to make such a decision- you are the King, not I." Sansa kept her head toward the ground, looking at her feet.

"Still think she is a princess?" Joffery sneered at the men. "She has given me permission to do what I like to you too. I am King. I make the decisions- not some filthy girl from the North!" There was a pause and Sansa looked up at him, praying for mercy on the lives of the men.

"Ser Mandon, I want you to cut out their tongues for the lies they say!"

Sansa was pulled away by Ser Meryn and forced to watch as knights surrounded the men. She saw the flash of steel and closed her eyes. She heard the screams of the men as Ser Mandon forced their mouths open and cut out their tongues. Ser Meryn shook her and made her stare at their tongues, severed on the floor. The two men lay on the floor, hands covering their mouths. Sansa could hear their moans of pain and felt a tear roll down her cheek.

"Ser Boros, cut off their ears for the lies they hear!"

Ser Meryn tightened his grip on Sansa and this time made her watch. The men were pulled to their feet and held firmly. Ser Boros used the same knife that Ser Mandon used and in a single stroke, cut off their ears, leaving only holes. Blood began to cover the floor around the men, and Ser Boros threw their ears beside their tongues.

"Ser Preston, crave out their eyes for the lies they see!"

Not even Ser Meryn could watch this. He turned his back to the men, keeping Sansa's back to them. She covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes as tightly as she could. She could still hear their tongueless cries. When they turned around, Sansa averted her eyes so she couldn't see their eyes beside their ears and tongues.

"Ser Arys, cut off their heads for the lies they live!"

Sansa was grateful Joffery was ending their lives. It appeared everyone else in Court was as well. Ser Arys drew his sword and swung. The men's heads rolled on the floor, now red with their blood. She wiped away her tears so Joffery won't see her cry for the men. She had to wait until she was in the safety of her bedchambers to do that. Even then, she wasn't completely safe.

Had they lived in Winterfell? Had she ever seen them out on a ride? Did they have families? Wives? Children? What were their names? She would never know. Silently, Sansa sent a prayer to both her father's and mother's gods, asking for the two men to find peace.

"I want their heads mounted on spikes! But be sure to leave the three for my uncles and Stark empty! I will see their heads mounted on my walls yet!"

Ser Meryn released her and grabbed the men's heads by the hair, taking them from the hall to be fastened onto spikes. She felt the weight of Sandor's eyes on her back, but she refused to look at him. If she did, she probably would have thrown herself into his arms with tears streaming down her face.

As servants and maids came to clear away the blood and bodies, Joffery glared down at Sansa. He was breathing heavily and his face had turned a shade of a red. She met his gaze timidly, but did not look away. "Those men came from your brother's army if you hadn't figured that out yet you, stupid girl. We crushed his pathetic army at Riverrun and your coward brother fled. My armies are out seeking him now. It shouldn't be too long before we find him and kill him. His head will make a wondrous wedding present, won't it?"

Robb was defeated? No. No he couldn't be. He was going to safe her. He was crushing Joffery's army. No, he couldn't be losing. And he wouldn't have fled. Robb was Eddard Stark's son! He knew the meaning of honor. Fleeing was not honorable. No, Robb wouldn't flee; he would fight and die with his men… wouldn't he?

"Our children better be like me," Joffery hissed. "I don't want them to have a drop of your family in them. My sons will not be cowards or traitors!"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Get her out of here! I don't want to have to look at her again!" Joffery turned from her and sat down on his throne. Sansa felt Sandor take her by the arm and lead her out of the Red Keep. As the door shut behind them, she moved to collapse into his arms.

"Not here, little bird." His voice was gentle. They walked through the halls, their pace increasing the closer they got to her room.

Sandor opened her door and ushered her in, closing it behind him. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Joffery's armies haven't marched toward Riverrun yet. They still sit south of The Neck. Last I heard your brother isn't even in Riverrun. He is fine. Joffery was lying to you." His thumb wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. "Your brother is all right, Sansa."

"T-the men," she choked out. "Wh-what were their names?"

"I do not know. They were scouters I believe. Tywin's forces picked up them and sent them down here for Joffery to make an example of."

Sansa buried her head in his chest, sobbing against his armor. He held her and rocked her back and forth gently. And she cried. She cried for Bran, who would never walk again. She cried for Rickon who needed her mother. She cried for Robb who was growing up so fast. She cried for Arya who had disappeared. She cried for her mother who lost her husband. She cried for the men and her father who lost their lives. She cried for Sandor whose brother burned half of his face. And she cried for herself.

His hands rubbed her arms, and he did not say a thing. He couldn't tell her everything was going to be all right- Sansa knew it would probably not be. Besides, Sansa didn't want broken promises and half-hearted lies. She just wanted to be held.

And Sandor never let her go.


End file.
